Old Haunts
by Miss Jazz
Summary: Grissom helps Sara revisit her past. Post “Nesting Dolls.” GSR.


**Old Haunts**

by Miss Jazz

**

* * *

Category:** Angst/Romance, GSR. 

**Spoilers:** Nesting Dolls.

**Summary:** Grissom helps Sara re-visit her past. Post "Nesting Dolls." GSR.

**Disclaimer:** It would be nice to own Grissom and Sara, but I don't.

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He didn't ask her to explain. 

He just showed up at her apartment that Friday morning, with an overnight bag in one hand and his sunglasses in the other. "I'm off until Sunday," he told her, with a faint smile and a simple shrug. "And I've always liked California." He knew that much was true. And he also knew that there were so many _more_ reasons why he was there, standing on her doorstep, ready to go with her.

She didn't ask him to explain.

She seemed surprised by his presence, and at the same time, she didn't. Questions danced nervously in her brown eyes–just like always–but she didn't say a word as he took her small suitcase from beside the door and rolled it outside, so he could load it. She didn't say a word as he slipped into the passenger seat of her vehicle. She didn't say a word as she started the engine and steered them out of the driveway. She didn't say one word at all.

And neither did he.

He watched her drive, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye when he was sure she wouldn't notice. He held his breath as he studied her expression closely, and by the time they reached the interstate, he had come to the realization that her face revealed nothing. She was a pale, blank slate. And she was driving in silence.

Gil Grissom officially had _no idea_ why Sara Sidle was going to California. Business or pleasure? He didn't know. He _couldn't _know. He was, however, pretty sure that she was heading off to deal with something that wouldn't really fall into either of those categories. This journey was about something _personal_. Personal business, maybe. But somehow, Grissom knew it went much deeper than _business. _He knew that it went much deeper than anything he could imagine. He knew she would need him on this journey. And that was why he was going with her. At least, that was one reason.

She finally asked him to explain, breaking the silence about twenty minutes into the trip.

"So how did you know?" she asked quietly, without looking over at him.

Grissom let out a long breath."You asked for time off," he replied, his words soft but blunt.

"I only asked for a few days. That could have meant anything."

"Or everything," Grissom whispered back. Sara had never asked him for time off before. She was usually asking him for extra cases, or_ not_ asking and just working extra shifts as she saw fit. The Sara he knew would never even dream of time off, because she didn't sleep enough to dream! But then again, the Sara he knew was a Sara he didn't really know at all.

She pressed for more information. "The phone call. You heard me on the phone, didn't you?"

He nodded. "I heard some of it, Sara."

"How much?"

"Enough." Grissom said, hesitating a bit. He certainly hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but when he had noticed Sara, sitting alone in the break room, pale and shaking like a leaf, he had stopped to listen for a moment, to make sure she was okay. That was yesterday.

And today, she didn't look much better.

Her lips trembled. "Griss, I'm not sure you'll understand. _I_ don't even understand."

"Understand what?"

"_This_," she sighed.

Now which _'this_' did she mean, he wondered. Was it _'this task'_ before her? Or was it '_this thing'_ between them–the _'this'_ that could never seem to be defined, the '_this'_ he didn't know what to do about. He decided to assume that it was the first one, to play it safe, as he always did, but he kept his answer open to all the possibilities.

"I _want_ to understand," he said softly.

Sara shook her head slowly, sadly. "I don't know if that's possible."

"I'll try," he offered.

Sara bit her lip, looking over at him for a second. "I appreciate that, Griss," she breathed. "I do. I just–" She took a shaky breath. "It's silly–"

"What is?"

"The reason why I'm going where I'm going."

Grissom winced. "I don't think it's silly at all."

"But you don't even know–"

"I don't need to."

Sara briefly looked over at him again, with more questions in her eyes. "Is this a responsibility thing?" she asked timidly. "Because of what I told you about me, about my family?" She looked uncomfortable. "You don't need to babysit me, Grissom. I'm fine."

"That's not why I came."

"Why _did_ you come then?" she asked, with hope and fear building in her voice. "And please tell me that it's not because you pity me," she begged. "I don't need that. I hope that's not why you're doing this."

"That's not the reason."

"Then _why_?"

"I came because–" Grissom suddenly felt lightheaded. "Because I _wanted_ to, Sara."

She didn't reply.

"It's not just because I'm concerned about you," he added softly.

Grissom wasn't sure, but he thought he saw tears form in Sara's eyes. His heart skipped nervously as he took a few more subtle glances, searching her expression again. Did she feel the same way he did? Was she confused, and desperate, and full of longing, just like him? Did she _want_ him there with her, or was he making everything more difficult? Did she know that he was finally ready to be needed, to be there for her?

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and she managed a hoarse "okay" before lapsing back into silence once more. She stared straight ahead at the road, blinking back the tears that were now pooling in her deep brown eyes.

Grissom pretended not to notice. "It's a beautiful day," he said gently, gesturing towards the blue sky. "Maybe later we can find a nice spot for lunch, where we can eat outside." He was shocked by the amount of confidence in his voice, but he tried not to let it show.

"I'd like that," Sara breathed.

"Me too."

Her cheeks became red, all of a sudden. "Grissom, how did you know?" she asked hesitantly, for the second time, as if they were starting their conversation all of over again.

"Sara, we already–"

"No, I mean, how did you _know_?"

To Grissom's surprise, he understood. But how was he going to explain that he just _knew_ she would need him? How could he describe the complex connection he'd had with Sara from the moment they'd met? How would he tell her that he was, indeed, a real human being, who felt things just like every other normal person?

How could he possibly explain it all?

He knew he couldn't. At least not right then. So all he said was, "I just _knew_," and he hoped that their connection was still as strong as it used to be, so that she would understand. When she nodded, a second later, he knew that it was. He sighed silently in relief.

And then, as Sara's face finally flooded with the emotions she was trying so hard to hide, he let out a long breath, and he asked her.

"Sara, where are we going?"

* * *

Several hours later, Grissom found himself in Sara's past. 

He stood on the porch of an old house, one that looked like it might have seen better days, even though he knew better than to believe that. Beside him, Sara stood stiffly, with a battle raging in her eyes. On the way, she had nervously revealed to Grissom that they were going to her old house–her childhood home, if it could be called that–but she hadn't told him _why. _And now Grissom was beginning to wonder what she needed from that house. Whatever it was, could it possibly be worth what she was putting herself through?

"You don't have to come in with me," Sara whispered, as she moved to knock on the door. "You can wait right here, if you want."

Grissom nodded. "I know."

"Do you?"

He touched the back of her arm lightly. "Sara–I know," he repeated. "But I'd rather come in, if that's okay."

She gave him a grateful, wobbly smile. "Yeah–okay. That would be, uh, _good._"

The sudden sound of footsteps made Sara's eyes widen and Grissom gave her arm a soft squeeze. "You're sure you want to do this?" he asked quietly, just as the door started to creak open.

Sara didn't have time to answer. Before she could open her mouth, the door opened all the way, and any chance of turning back vanished into thin air.

May Hunter was the name of the pleasant young woman who stood in the doorway. She had a long ponytail of dark brown hair, and she smiled broadly at Sara and Grissom, inviting them in with a wave of her small, delicate hand. "You must be Sara!" she said brightly, as the three of them gathered in the front hall.

"Yes," Sara said, in an almost steady voice. She extended her shaking hand to May. "Sara Sidle."

May grinned. "Well, Sara, you look just like I pictured you, amazingly enough!" With that, she guided Sara and Grissom down the hall to the kitchen, chatting easily and introducing her two spirited children along the way. She talked a mile a minute as she poured water into two glasses, serving them to her two guests. In her excited rambling, she made no mention of a husband or a boyfriend, but she did mention her father, who bought the house a few years before. And she seemed to think it was important that Sara know how much she enjoyed living there. There was absolutely nothing in May's eyes–no sympathy, no scrutiny–to indicate that she knew what Sara had gone through in that very house. In fact, it became quickly apparent that May knew _nothing_ about Sara's past. She just chatted away, innocently, remaining completely unaware that Sara's childhood had been destroyed in the same house she lived and laughed in every day.

Grissom cringed as he watched Sara shift uneasily in her seat. Her brown eyes darted rapidly around the room, as if she were reliving a million moments in only a few seconds. She was obviously trying to play along, trying to pretend that this was the long-awaited, meaningful homecoming that May was making it out to be. It was meaningful, alright, Grissom thought to himself, sorrowfully. Just not meaningful in an understandable way.

But Sara was, indeed, convincing. She smiled faintly, putting on the same face that used to _almost_ fool Grissom. "That's great," she would say over and over again, as May told her all about her planned renovations, the old neighbours and the big tree that still shaded the backyard. Grissom found himself picturing May's children in that tree–laughing, and swinging from its big, lofty branches. Then, with a heavy heart, he pictured a young Sara hiding in that same tree–alone and afraid. May's children could play up in that tree and know that it would be safe to come down again. Grissom wondered if Sara had ever felt that way.

When May led them out of the kitchen and over to the staircase, Grissom knew that Sara wouldn't be able to hold it in much longer. There was a change in her eyes, and he knew that she was losing the battle. Her fingers timidly reached out for his when they passed the living room and when she squeezed, he felt the desperation in her grasp. He squeezed back, without thinking.

"It–it happened over there," Sara whispered, nodding hesitantly toward the living room. Grissom followed her cold stare, his gaze coming to rest on one of the room's walls, where dark purple paint masked Sara's painful past, hiding her deepest secret. The crimson cast off she had recently described to him had been covered over and forgotten–by _almost_ everyone. Grissom wondered if Sara could see right through the paint.

There was a cold feeling to that area of the house. The front foyer and the living room were dark and quiet, and if May and Sara hadn't been making their way up the creaky stairs, there would have been complete silence. Grissom shook off the odd chill that ran through him and he moved to follow Sara, his foot falling onto the first wooden step. It groaned under his weight. So did the next one. And the next. And the next. With every step, he found himself wondering if the stairs had made those noises long ago, when little Sara ran up them, desperate to get away.

Grissom shivered.

He could almost see her, running up those stairs, with fear in her eyes. He had been shocked to learn what Sara had gone through as a child, and now it was even more shocking because he could _feel_ it. He could feel her innocence and helplessness in everything he saw. He could feel her spirit being destroyed in the stale air he was breathing. He could smell the blood under the purple paint.

"Grissom–"

Startled, he looked up at the sound of Sara's wavering voice. She was standing there, at the top of the stairs, with tears streaming down her red face.

"Honey, are you–"

"We need to go," she said, choking the words out quickly. She didn't wait for his reply. She just dashed down the stairs, her knees wobbling with almost every noisy step. Grissom clambered down behind her, and May jogged down behind him, asking questions that he couldn't answer.

"Sara?" he whispered gently, when he caught up to her at the bottom step. He slipped his hand under her elbow and she leaned into him, accepting his support. As he led her to the door, he noticed that her face was now chalk-white and that there was a haunted look in her dull brown eyes. Another icy chill swept through him. And then another chill jolted him again, a second later, when he finally realized what she had come for.

In Sara's arms, there was a porcelain doll, with ringlets of chocolate brown hair and a creamy complexion. Grissom had to look twice, to be sure, because it was last thing he had expected to see. But it was, indeed, a doll clutched tightly to Sara's chest, one that wore a simple blue dress and looked remarkably like her. And suddenly, Grissom could see little Sara Sidle again, holding on tightly to the one thing she could, the one thing that reminded her that life could sometimes be good.

Sara held that doll closer and closer to her with every breath and every step she took. "I'm fine,"she tried to tell Grissom. But he knew better.

Grissom helped Sara into the passenger seat of her vehicle, formerly _his_ seat, while he listened to May apologize wildly for what she didn't know, what she would never know. And then, after reassuring May that it wasn't her fault and saying goodbye for both of them, he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"Get me out of here, Griss. Please," Sara breathed, as her tears continued to fall.

With a quick, sympathetic nod, he did just that. He sped down the dirt road and the old house disappeared behind them, along with almost all of the other things that haunted Sara.

"I felt my father in the house, Grissom," Sara whispered, as the distance between her and her old haunts doubled. "God, I felt everything."

Grissom took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sara," he sighed, not knowing what else to say. The pit in his stomach deepened. "I'm sorry you had to go through this, for whatever reason."

"I don't know why I did it," she cried softly. "I never really had a reason."

"Yes, you did," Grissom said gently. "Of course you did."

"If I did, I don't know what it was," she said, shaking her head. "I still don't understand."

"But that's okay–"

"No, it's not," Sara jumped in, her tears now falling at a faster pace. "It's not okay."

"You had a reason to come, Sara. Just like I did," Grissom insisted. "You needed something, so you came and you got it. I understand that."

Sara cleared her throat, tracing the doll's porcelain features with a timid fingertip. "But I don't understand _why,_ Grissom. It's a _doll_," she muttered sadly. "I don't need her. I don't even want her. I forgot all about her." She bit her trembling lower lip. "I just wanted to move past all of this."

"But you came back for her–" Grissom trailed off.

"But that wasn't it!" Sara exclaimed. "May offered to send her to me, and I said no." She looked over at him, tearful and incredulous. "Why would I say no, Grissom? It doesn't make any sense."

"It makes sense to me."

"Does it?" Sara tightened her grip on the doll. "I come out here for a doll that I forgot about for years and years and that makes sense to you?"

He didn't answer that. Instead, he set them in a different direction. "Why did you forget her?" he asked quietly, looking away from the road and over at her for a moment. He winced when she stared back at him. There was so much pain in her expression. "She obviously meant something to you at one time," he continued softly, turning back to the road.

"I don't know why I forgot."

In his heart, Grissom knew that wasn't true, but he didn't want to push her. "Sara, it's, um, it's okay if you don't want to talk about it," he told her gently. "Just tell me where we're headed right now and–"

"I hid her."

Grissom raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What?"

Sara let out a shaky sigh. "I hid her," she said again, her breaths soft and erratic. "When I was eight years old, I hid her under the loose floorboards upstairs in the attic. Nobody knew she was there but me. I never told anyone. And then I–" She paused, blinking back some more tears. "After everything that happened, I eventually forgot."

"And May Hunter found her?"

Sara nodded slowly, staring straight ahead. "I wrote my name on the bottom of her shoe," she said in surprise, as she lifted the doll upside down to reveal young Sara's wobbly writing. "Apparently my hiding spot was a good one, because it took this long for someone to find her. And apparently, some of the neighbours remember me." She looked down at her shaking hands. "They helped May track me down."

"They must have thought it was important."

"Yeah," she mumbled. "I used to visit those neighbours–Tom and Isabel–a lot. I made up excuses to stay over there as long as I could, when things got really bad. They knew that my mom gave me the doll for Christmas, and they knew how much I loved her. I guess, for some reason, they thought I might still need her." She closed her eyes for a second. "They know what happened and they didn't tell. They kept the secret. Longer than I did, I guess."

"Well, it wasn't their secret _to_ tell."

"It shouldn't have been mine, either," Sara said blankly.

"But it was," whispered Grissom. He took a steadying breath. "And it wasn't fair."

The tears continued to spill down Sara's cheeks. "No, it _wasn't _fair," she cried. "It was never, ever fair."

Grissom sighed. It was haunting. The tender way Sara looked down at the doll, the way her deep brown eyes reflected the grief and torment of so long ago, the way her quick, soft breaths pierced the silence–it was all so damn ghostly. Grissom felt cold and he shivered, just watching her.

"Why did you hide her, Sara?"

Sara shuddered. "It was a long time ago. I don't remember why."

"I think you do."

"I was eight, Griss. How am I supposed to remember exactly what I was thinking?"

"You _do_ remember," Grissom breathed. "Because it meant everything to you at the time. Didn't it?"

Sara started to shake her head, to deny it, but then she started sobbing. "It's stupid," she cried out angrily. "It's so stupid!"

"What's stupid?"

"She's not even real," Sara gasped out. "But I had to protect her!"

Grissom's eyes shot open and for a moment, he thought he might actually be sick to his stomach. "You didn't want her to get hurt?" he asked, his voice nearly breaking. He shook his head softly, wondering how he was even able to take part in this heartbreaking conversation. He was surprised that he could even speak.

Sara bowed her head. "I don't know–"

"You didn't want her to break?"

"_I_ was breaking, not her," Sara cried. She clenched her fists and fought through her sobs for air. "It _hurt_, Griss! Everything hurt. Nobody _ever_ protected me, until–" She stopped for a second. "I didn't know what it felt like to be safe. So I pretended."

"You could protect her. You could keep her safe when nobody else was safe."

"It worked," she mumbled. "I _did_ protect her."

"Yes, honey. But it should have been you," Grissom said, moving his fingers closer to her, inching them across the middle console and praying that Sara wouldn't push them away. His fingertips found the lace-clad, porcelain doll first, and then they found skin–wonderfully warm, soft skin. He wrapped his hand around Sara's. "Somebody should have protected _you,_ Sara."

"I know that," she cried weakly, her hand trembling in his."How could I not know that?"

"It must be easy to forget though, when you've spent your whole life just having to deal with it. You never got a choice in the matter."

Sara shook her head. "I just wanted to be a little girl," she muttered hoarsely."And I didn't feel like one. It's amazing to think that this doll made me feel important. She made me feel _okay._ More than anything else did."

Grissom squeezed her hand. "She made you feel normal?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah, normal–I guess."

There was silence for a moment. Grissom stared ahead at the road while he silently searched his soul, mustering up all of his courage. He looked over at the doll and he found himself wondering where she would put it. Would she hide it away, like she had in the past? Would it sit on her bed, resting among her pillows? Would it go into a box in her closet? Would she give it away to a _real_ little girl?

He cleared his throat, following his instincts. "But you were never normal, were you Sara?" he finally asked, his voice barely audible. "You thought you were, for awhile, but you weren't."

"No." Sara shook her head fiercely, as if she were trying to shake all of her emotions away.

"Honey–"

"No," she cried again, in a strangled whisper. "I wasn't normal, Griss. No matter how hard I tried, I was _never_ a little girl. Even though I thought I was." She winced and fresh tears spilled out. "I never got to be one. I didn't get the chance."

"You were forced to grow up," Grissom said quietly. "Before you were ready to."

Sara took a calming breath. "Yeah, but dammit, Griss! We see kids put in that position almost every day!" Looking weary all of a sudden, she rested her head against the window. "The world isn't fair but that's the way it goes, right? There's nothing we can do about it. Shit happens."

Grissom's heart sank. She was sounding like him, too much like him. "Sara–"

"You're right, you know," she continued, with anguish in her voice. "We can follow the evidence as far as it will take us, scientifically. But we can't follow our hearts that far at all."

"I don't think that advice is even applicable right now. This happened to _you._"

"It is," insisted Sara. "Because everything I do, all the really difficult cases–I can see _myself_ in them! I live it again and again, and I can't stop it! Until I can get over all of this, I'm never going to be able to take that advice."

"You're moving in the right direction, Sara," Grissom assured her. "I know it doesn't seem that way, but you are. What if you really did _need_ this? What if you needed to come back to see that this isn't you anymore, that it isn't _a part_ of you?"

Sara eyed him closely. "And what if there's even more to it than that? What if I can never really understand why I came today?"

Grissom gave her a comforting smile. "Some things can't be explained," he said, with a shrug.

Sara's watery eyes widened. "That's coming from a scientist?"

"No," he replied warmly. "It's coming from _me._"

And with that, Grissom pulled over onto the side of the road, bringing the vehicle to a stop. He hopped out and then went over to Sara's side, opening the door and then extending his hand to her, staring directly into her red, tear-filled eyes. Leaving the doll on the seat, she took his hand and he helped her up, pulling her into a warm embrace right there on the side of the road.

"Let it out, Sara," he whispered into her ear. "I know I haven't been there for you the last couple of years and that you have no reason to trust me with your feelings, but let it out. It's okay. I think I've changed."

She didn't ask him to explain.

Wordlessly, she bit her lip and she surrendered her shaking body into his arms, leaning into him desperately. Her cries became heavier again and her breathing erratic. But, for the first time that day, she seemed comfortable. "I was so scared, Grissom," she finally sobbed into his chest. "So, so scared. For so long."

"And you had every right to be, Sara."

She nodded slowly and then, together, they sat down, right there on the side of the road, with the Tahoe still running. Grissom held Sara in his arms for what seemed like hours–beautiful, spirit-cleansing hours. She leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder and her hair blowing gently around his face. He didn't say anything while she cried. He just held her, knowing for the first time that it was what she needed the most.

Sara sighed, letting a small puff of her warm breath mingle with the cool air. "Sometimes–" she whispered. "Sometimes, I think that everything will be okay."

He didn't ask her to explain.

The End

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Author's Note: Thanks to all the wonderful people who have read and/or reviewed my stories! I always appreciate feedback and encouragement! You all make it an absolute pleasure :) Faithful Light update is on the way! 

Thanks!

Jazz


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